


Rumble of the Earth

by TWDObsessive



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Rick, Kissing, M/M, Prompt Fill, unexpected dangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:03:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/pseuds/TWDObsessive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt request from Lucife56:</p><p>I would like Rick and Daryl in an established relationship and something happens to one of them, not sure what. Please, lots of anguish and some hurt comfort at the end would be great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rumble of the Earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucife56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucife56/gifts).



> This is a thank you to Lucife56 for providing the AMAZING sketch in my fic, Of Sonnets and Sketches. If you missed that one you should check it out! And you should definitely subscribe to Lucife56 on AO3 and Tumblr to keep up with all her amazing drawings!
> 
> Also, (and I'm sure you saw this coming!) - this fic was Beta'd by my dearest bestie Skarlatha!

Of course Rick and Daryl volunteered for the run. They always volunteered for the runs. Not just because they’d prefer to put themselves in danger over any of the others in their family, but because they liked their alone time, and everyone knew that. Most of their runs lately have been for baby formula or Desitin, or diapers or teething rings, so Rick felt a certain responsibility to handle it and since Daryl was basically papa number two by proxy, they took responsibility for supplying their girl with whatever it is little girls needed.

Daryl read over the list as Rick drove. “What the hell is an assputer? Does this say assputer? Is this something for her ASS? I’m not putting anything in lil’ asskicker’s back end!”

Rick leaned over from the driver’s seat and looked at the list as Daryl held it up for him.

“It’s a nasal aspirator. It gets snot out when they have stuffy noses. We had one for Carl. They HATE it by the way, so that can be your job.”

“No way. I want the good jobs,” Daryl responded quickly.

“You get to read to her every night,” Rick said.

“You made me feed her peas. You knew she’d hate those peas. Now she’s gonna think a’ that every time I come near her. Won’t want me no more.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Daryl. She wants you plenty. Trust me. You are the one who gives her chocolate when I’ve TOLD you not to! THAT she will remember.”

“Makin’ up for the peas, man,” Daryl muttered. “I don’t want to be the ‘clean your plate’ dad.”

Static burst out from the walkie talkie on Rick’s hip and Daryl reached for it, bringing it to his mouth and pressing the talk button. “What now?” Daryl grumbled, scowling at the walkie talkie. He liked the lack of cell phones and technology and now these damn CB things were like chains all over again. Couldn’t just get the fuck away.

“Now, Pookie, is that the polite way to answer a call?” Carol chided, the only one who could call him Pookie and get away with it.

“So yeah, I wasn’t paying any attention to those codes and shit this morning because Rick kept making eyes at me during the meeting so…. just like state your business or whatever.”

Rick frowned at Daryl. “I was not!” he exclaimed.

“Were so! You were doing that thing. Looked at my eyes then my lips and lickin’ your lips. I ain’t dumb. I know what you were thinkin’ ‘bout!”

“Gentlemen, please remove your finger from the button if you are going to have a lover’s spat. This line is for emergencies only,” Carol’s staticy voice rang out.

“What’s the emergency Carol? The dead are alive and eating us? Cause I did get that update at the morning meeting.” Daryl could practically hear her rolling her eyes over the radio.

“Please add baby socks and pacifiers to the list.”

“I just brought back ten pairs of socks for her last week,” Rick muttered.

Daryl shrugged. “My girl’s a kicker. They must keep flying off.” And then he pressed the radio button to respond, “Got it, Carol. Over and out. Or Roger that. Or whatever the fuck I’m s’posed ta say.”

Daryl started jotting down the new items on the list. “Babies need a crap-load of stuff. All I carry with me is a knife, a crossbow, and a flashlight. You seen her baby bag? Jesus, your kid is high maintenance.”

Rick took the radio back from Daryl and started to fasten it to his belt as he drove.

“Wait, man. I need that. I have to call in a class one, code red emergency.” Daryl had a twinkle in his eye and a grin. The kind that would make Rick do about anything the hunter asked.

“What’s this emergency?” Rick asked, having a fairly good idea what it was.

“Ain’t gotten laid since this morning, officer. Can you help me?” he asked, batting those eyelashes over his bright blue eyes, knowing full well he gets his way with Rick. Always.

“That sounds serious,” Rick responded playfully as he pulled into a driveway at the beginning of a housing development. A Model Home sign sat decaying in front of the overgrown lawn.

“Gotta clear it. Use the head that’s on your shoulders first. Then we’ll take care of the other one, ok?” Rick winked. Daryl loved it when Rick winked at him. It was intimate and personal and cute and fun and lighthearted and it made him forget about walkers and death and responsibilities for just that moment. And individual moments were things to be truly cherished in this world.

They cleared the home without any trouble and as soon as they were alone, weapons were lowered, pockets were emptied and gun belts were removed. Rick walked to Daryl and fit into his space like only well-known lovers could do. Arms tucked into familiar places and heads tilted in comfortable directions and lips that knew each other better than than the sky knew the stars. There was no rush to this anymore. No urgency. They no longer hid it and frankly they’d probably gotten more open than they should. The privacy in the prison was really only for show. Curtains didn’t keep their cries and sighs and gasps and groans away from the other survivors.

“You can be loud here. I know you like that. Crying out for what you want. Begging me not to stop,” Rick murmured softly against Daryl’s ear and the hunter groaned and pressed his body to Rick’s.

“I’m so glad that kid always needs so much damn shit,” Daryl whispered into Rick’s parted lips. The hunter put hands up into Rick’s soft curls, kissed him and held him tight. And even after all this time, the world seemed to tilt on its axis when he was in Rick’s arms.

It was lovely and slow and soft and peaceful until they realized that it wasn’t just their hearts that were thudding. A cacophony of falling books, lamps, a litany of dishes breaking suddenly surrounded them.

“Earthquake,” Rick said calmly. He pulled Daryl with him to the nearest door frame. Neither man had ever been in an earthquake before. It was Georgia, after all. But the world had certainly changed and anything was possible at this point.

Daryl was surprised at how terrified he was. The dead he could kill. People he could fight. Animals he could outwit. But the earth convulsing like this was completely out of his control. This… this was something else entirely. It was unstable and unexpected and unknown.

Rick had his body pressed to Daryl’s in the deep door frame of the dining room. Time slowed and sped in equal measure. Was it really just mere moments? Rick sensed Daryl’s fear. He knew his lover and knew every shift of his body and every crinkle of his brow.

“‘S’ok baby. Just an earthquake. Be over in a minute.” He held Daryl tight against him and knew they both shared the same fears. Not here and now. Not this house or this kitchen or their bodies. They both feared for the prison. For Judith and Carl and the rest.

The minutes dragged on like the agonizing slow motion of something that required study frame by frame like a close horse race or the Zapruder film. The china and glassware shattered. Picture frames fell one by one. The ground belched and bent beneath them, the walls bulged.

“The kids,” Daryl said, his voice tight and nervous.

“Prison’s built stronger than this place.” Rick answered.

Then the earth opened up like hell would swallow them whole. The kitchen table disappeared. The chairs. Walls crumbled around them and dust from concrete and bricks and drywall filled the air.

Rick slipped from Daryl’s grasp and the hunter kept hands tight on his lover’s body, leaning forward with him as he slipped. The rumbling and shaking subsided and both men found themselves on the floor surrounded by beams and wall, a busted bed frame that fell through the ceiling and a thick air of microscopic debris that nearly blinded them.

As soon as the ground stilled, Daryl felt back in control. “Rick, you ok?” he asked in the soft affectionate lover’s voice he used most often in the bedroom.

“Yeah, you?”

Daryl knew this man. This was not the answer he wanted. There weren’t enough words. There were no reassurances. It wasn’t followed up with the start of a plan on how to climb out.

“You’re not,” Daryl answered plainly. “What is it?” The hunter took the red shop rag from his back pocket and wiped the dust and grime from Rick’s face. His eyes were blood-red from the debris and Daryl imagined his were the same.

The hunter ran hands along Rick’s side, down his thighs. “Where, Rick? I know you’re hurt.”

“Foot. Ankle maybe?” Rick answered in a strong, confident voice. Clearly hurt, but trying to convey fearlessness for his lover’s sake.

Daryl came to a badly damaged right ankle. Rick’s foot was facing the wrong direction entirely. There were deep lacerations along the bottom of his calf and Daryl was certain he saw actual bone exposed from the twisted foot. It looked bad. Daryl had no medical training whatsoever but tried to dig back into his memories at the care he’d witnessed. Hershel’s leg, sprained wrists, cuts and bruises.

The dust still hadn’t settled and he couldn’t get a sense of the bleeding, but words like ‘cleaning the wound’ and ‘tourniquet’ sprang to life in his head. The red rag was already filthy. There was no water in sight and he hadn’t seen an easy exit yet on how to climb out of the debris.

Daryl pulled his shirt off, glad to still have it. Glad they hadn’t gotten a few more minutes into their embrace. He ripped it and used part to soak up and get a sense of the amount of blood. Rick remained unusually silent and that, more than anything else at that moment, terrified Daryl. He used the other shred of shirt as a tourniquet and Rick groaned in obvious pain as Daryl tightened it around the leader’s lower calf.

“See any way out?” Daryl asked to try to distract him.

“We’ll find a way once the dust settles,” Rick responded, still trying to be in charge.

Daryl took a moment to inventory himself--arms, legs, fingers, toes. All intact. Couple bruises, nothing serious. As the dust finally settled, he could see Rick more clearly: blood dripping in rivulets down his forehead and along the side of his face.

The hunter darted eyes across his surroundings and spotted a pillow that had come down alongside the bed frame. He stripped the pillowcase and held it to the leader’s head. “Hold it here,” Daryl instructed.

The sound of static rose from just a few feet away. “Rick. Daryl. Please come in. Are you there? Can you hear us?” It was Glenn’s voice. And it dawned on Daryl that he’d been hearing it for a while.

“Can you reach it?” Rick asked. The hand holding the pillow case to his forehead had dropped to his lap.

“Rick. Listen to me. Focus on me, ok? You NEED to keep this on your head. Hold it tight for me, ok?” The leader nodded and again, Daryl’s heart sank. Lack of words from this man was not a good sign.

Daryl crawled towards the sound of the radio and found they were blocked by a cracked bathtub and more drywall. The static was close, arm’s length easily and the hunter dug and scraped his way through wood and shingles and broken glass until he was able to reach an arm through and wrap his hand around the dusty black radio. The hole he’d made for his arm was just large enough to pull the radio back through as Glenn was still frantically trying to raise them on it.

“Daryl. Rick. This is Glenn, over. Please report back. Let us know you’re ok.” That time Daryl heard Judith crying in the background and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly claustrophobic and desperate to get out of this tomb.

He glanced back at his leader, his lover, his every reason to be alive. He pressed the button and answered as he held Rick’s eyes.

“Glenn. We’re here. How are the kids? Is anyone hurt?”

“All ok. Just some bumps and bruises. Carl and Judith are fine. Just shaken up.”

Daryl took a deep breath and nudged Rick’s drooping hand back to press the torn rag to his bleeding head. “Glenn, why don’t you move outside so we get better reception. Y’know--away from the kids and stuff.”

Daryl prayed to a God that he was currently super pissed at that Glenn would understand he didn’t want Carl hearing this conversation.

A few moments later the radio buzzed to life again. “Daryl--just me and Hershel now. What’s wrong?”

“Rick ain’t so good. And we’re buried under rubble from a two story house. Not sure ‘bout getting out. Rick got a gash on his head ‘s bleeding pretty steady and his foot’s messed up. Definitely broke. No question.”

Hershel’s gentle voice broke through the harsh static next. “Is he conscious, son?”

Daryl looked at Rick and placed a hand on his cheek. “You’re gonna stay with me, right?”

Rick nodded. “Yeah. I’m here. I’m good.”

Daryl radio’d back. “He’s conscious but he’s quiet. Making me nervous he ain’t running his damn mouth constant like usual.” Rick smiled at the hunter and strained through a light chuckle that made him grab at his gut.

“Tell us which way you guys went. How can we get there?” It was Glenn again and as Daryl gave directions to their pile of rubble he paid attention to the way Rick had started holding a gentle hand to his stomach.

“Michonne says she knows exactly where you are. We’re on our way.” There was a pause and then Glenn instructed, “Hershel wants to know what Rick’s blood type is.”

Daryl looked over at Rick. “A-positive,” the leader answered.

Daryl smiled, “Me too.” He got back on the radio. “A-positive. Like mine. You can take it from me if he needs it.”

“Sit tight. On our way,” Glenn responded. “Hershel says to keep Rick awake and talking. Over and out.”

Daryl put the radio down and scooted closer to the leader, putting a hand over his to move it from his belly and using the other to lift his shirt. An angry purple-blue bruise was already rising along his hip and up the side of his stomach.

“Just a bruise,” Daryl said and Rick nodded. Both men knew it could be more, the kind of internal bleeding even Hershel and Bob wouldn’t be able to handle, but for now it was just a bruise. It had to be.

Daryl ran a hand along Rick’s back. He was leaning in an awkward angle, rubble against his back. Daryl checked his foot again and the tourniquet was in place and held back the bleeding but his leg was pinned, so there was no moving him.

The hunter stood hunched over in their small space. “Lean forward so I can sit behind you. You’ll be more comfortable leaning against my chest than a pile of bricks and debris.”

“Won’t be comfortable for you,” Rick responded.

“Rick, love, please don’t argue with me right now, ok?” Daryl said softly as he helped lean his lover forward and sat into the space behind him, jagged edges of concrete already digging into his lower back.

Rick hated feeling helpless. Hated seeing Daryl scared for him. Hated being scared himself. He knew they wouldn’t live forever, hell, they probably wouldn’t even live for another couple years in this world. The average lifespan will probably be cut in half the way the world is now. But Rick didn’t want to go yet. He didn’t want to leave his children and Daryl here. It was too soon.

“Lean back, it’s ok,” Daryl whispered. “They’re comin’. Be here real soon.” Rick accepted the gentle tug from Daryl’s hands as they rested gently against the unbruised part of his stomach. He felt the heat off Daryl’s chest and it was like a warm blanket and a bedtime story. He closed his eyes and sighed into the comfort of his lover.

“Need ya to keep talkin’ to me, Rick,” Daryl whispered, his voice shaky with fear, fingers stroking Rick’s curls at the base of his neck and the other hand taking the pillowcase back from Rick and holding it against his lover’s forehead for him.

“‘Bout what?” More short sentences.

“Whatever makes you feel good.”

“You make me feel good,” Rick said.

Daryl smiled against Rick’s neck and placed a soft kiss to his warm flesh. “Yeah? When did I start making you feel good?”

Rick took a deep breath. “After the farm. Way you looked at me when we met back up at the car on the road. Way you looked at me when you came back with Merle. Saved me outside the prison. Always looking at me like you wanted to climb right inside.”

Rick smiled at the thought of them coming together. Their first kiss. It was during a storm outside the prison. Just the two of them stabbing through fences in the dark because the sounds of the groans had gotten terrifyingly louder. Rick didn’t even remember what the argument was about. It had been a long damn day. They were both drenched, covered in blood, exhausted. It might have been that one of them thought it was enough for the night and the other wanted to stay at the fences? Or one thought they should go back to get more people to help and the other disagreed. He honestly couldn’t remember. But tempers ran hot and the argument turned into a fist thrown by Daryl. Then Rick crashing into the hunter with a shove and they were wrestling a bit and yelling. Angry. And they fell to the ground in a splash of muddy water and Daryl had cried out when Rick had fallen on top of him.

Rick apologized and asked if he was ok. Fight forgotten. Muddy. Rain still coming down in buckets. Rick still on top of Daryl as the hunter rubbed at a hip that would end up bruised for weeks. “I’m sorry,” Rick had said. And their eyes stayed firm on one another. Blinking away the rain. Neither moving. Neither of them would probably remember exactly how long they laid there and stared at each other wordlessly. And somehow their eyes made an unspoken agreement to allow affection. And Rick kissed Daryl’s lips quickly. A test. Almost waiting for another fist to fly. But instead Daryl leaned up, put his muddy hands into Rick’s sopping wet curls and brought his mouth back to his. Slower. Soft. Parted lips. Quiet groans. “Daryl, what is this?” Rick had whispered against chapped lips and the taste of heat and cigarettes and want. When Daryl didn’t answer, but only intensified the kiss, Rick slid his tongue in, wanting to be as close to Daryl as he could get. This man who was loyal beyond reason. This man who loved Rick and his family more than his own life. He knew this even before kisses and relationship and sex. He just didn’t recognize what was happening because he didn’t expect it with a man. But as they laid in the mud, in the rain, in the dark, lips finding a steady pattern, tongues taking turns exploring, hands moving from safe places like hair and shoulders to more heated places like thighs and asses, the realization hit him. He loved this man.

“Rick, you still with me? Whatcha thinking about?” Daryl asked, taking the fingers away from his lover’s hair and instead grabbing and holding onto Rick’s hand.

“I’m fine. Just thinking. ‘Bout kissing that first time.”

Daryl smiled. “That was muddy,” He said as he placed another soft kiss on Rick’s neck. “Dirty. Perfect way for us to start. Covered in blood and mud. If two straight guys are gonna fall in love, that’s the way to do it.”

“Daryl, I hate to break it to you… but I don’t think we’re straight anymore. Been fucking almost a year.”

“Rick! That’s not very romantic. Should say we’ve been in love almost a year,” Daryl teased.

“I do love you, Daryl.”

“I know.”

“My kids love you.”

“I know that, too.”

“Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

“Need you to take care of them. ‘F anything happens, y’know? Give Carl my gun. Don’t want Judith to wonder about me. Let her think it was always just you.”

“Don’t you fucking DARE, Rick. Don’t you dare write out your will right now. They are on their way. You’ve been hurt worse. You’ll be FINE!” Daryl shouted, his voice cracking as he tried to tone down his anger. He put his forehead against the top of Rick’s head and squeezed his watering eyes closed.

“Haven’t been hurt worse, Daryl. You know that.”

“Christ, Rick--Hershel lost his fucking LEG and he’s racing here right now healthy as a horse. It’s just a fucking foot. So what. You lose a foot. We’ll find you a new one. Like… like with Hershel. Something we can rig. You’ll be fine. A broken foot ain’t gonna kill ya for fuck’s sa--”

Daryl’s angry rant was interrupted by rumbling and a few pieces of drywall falling a little further into the crater in the kitchen.

“Aftershock,” Rick said, with a police officer’s calm control. When the ground settled again, Daryl reached for the radio.

“Y’all close?”

Tyreese’s voice came back. “Ten minutes, brother, hang in there. Rick still alert?”

“Rick, say hi to the good people trying to save your dramatic ass from dying on me.” The hunter pressed the call button and held it to Rick’s lips.

“Rick?” Daryl shook him and dropped the radio. “RICK!” Daryl tried to stay calm. He put two fingers to Rick’s neck and felt a thready pulse.

“Don’t you fucking die on me. Don’t you dare. Not after all this. Not after all we been through.” Daryl’s soft but strong voice cracked again and slipped to sobs.

Rick’s head fell back against Daryl’s broad shoulder, the leader’s dry lips parted, the trails of blood from his head wound so stark against his pale skin.

“Rick!” Daryl shouted again, shaking him. He lifted his lover’s shirt and re-examined the bruise, chewing nervously at his bottom lip. He lifted the now-bloodied pillowcase from his head. The bleeding had slowed a bit, but the cuts were deep.

The hunter rested a shaky hand to his leader’s chest and felt the rise and fall of very shallow breaths. He whispered softly, “Rick Grimes does NOT give up. This is NOT how it will end. A little rumble of the earth? No. I refuse to believe you will die from a quick run for pacifiers and baby socks. From a shake of the ground. No.”

The foot looked bad from the awkward angle Daryl had. The shirt-turned-tourniquet was soaked with blood and the additional rumbles seem to have pressed the beam down harder on the already snapped bone.

“Rick, don’t leave me here. I ain’t good enough to raise your kids. They need you. They need a good man. A strong man. A leader. I need you. I need you.” Daryl cried then forced himself quiet to listen again for the sound of Rick’s breath. Instead, he heard several cars slam to braking.

“IN HERE!” Daryl shouted with a terrified, childlike voice he hadn’t ever used in his life. “He just lost consciousness. Please get him out of here. He needs help!”

“We hear you man, we’re close,” a voice shouted back. Maybe Bob? Maybe Glenn?

“Keep talking to us!” Michonne yelled. “Just say words. Anything--the alphabet, a laundry list of your favorite foods, whatever. Just talk.”

“How about a laundry list of why you gotta get in here now? 1.) he’s unconscious. 2.) he’s saved all your all lives a dozen times and it’s time to repay the favor. 3.) he’s hurt. He’s hurt bad.” Daryl heard them trying. The sounds of wood and wall and brick and furniture being lifted from all around them and tossed with a thud into the distance.

“4.) Carl needs his father. 5.) Judith ain’t even learned to say daddy yet. 6.) I just ain’t ready to let him go.” The hunter’s voice was strained and Daryl barely recognized it himself. “I just got him. I haven’t had enough time. I have too much left to tell him. I…” A ray of bright sunlight fell onto Daryl’s face and he squinted into the brightness.

“Here!” he shouted and he saw faces now. Glenn. Tyreese.

“That beam!” Daryl pointed. “Got him stuck. Need to get that up and off and you can pull him out.”

As the men groaned and grunted above him, Daryl yelled into Rick’s ear. “They’re here, baby. They’re here. You’re gonna be ok. Wake up. WAKE UP, Rick!” The hunter smacked at Rick’s cheek and the leader finally groaned.

“God. Thank God,” the hunter gasped. “Want to hear you, Rick. Talk to me. Please.” Daryl’s last word was a soft, helpless whisper.

“Daryl?” Rick groaned. And it was the sweetest sound the hunter had ever heard. Better than crickets on an early fall morning. Better than the sound of Judy’s giggle. Better than the throaty roar of a motorcycle.

Daryl hugged him as tightly as he thought was safe considering the injuries. “Rick,” he whispered against the leader’s ear. “Jesus. You scared the fucking shit out of me, man. Stay with me, ok?”

The light above them grew brighter as more debris was moved. The beam that pinned Rick was finally lifted and as it was, the leader cried out on pain.

“Pull him out! Get him to Hershel!” Daryl yelled.

Bob and Tyreese reached down and carefully lifted Rick out. And the three disappeared as Daryl stood. Michonne appeared and reached a hand down for him.

“Hershel’s probably gonna need to take you up on that offer for the blood. C’mon.”

—-------------------------------

Rick woke to the sounds of his prison, his home. He’d been getting stronger. Knew he’d probably be stronger than ever with some of his lover’s blood literally pumping through his veins.

He looked down at his missing foot. Hershel and Bob were still working on a makeshift fix to get him up and moving. His head wound had been stitched and thankfully the deep bruise on his midsection was just that, a bruise.

It had taken some time before he was able to grin. To laugh. To feel hopeful. The loss of his foot felt like he was stripped of the ability to protect and care for his family. He felt like he’d failed them. He’d have moments alone in his cell, lamenting his fate and all the ways his new limitations would be a burden, not just on himself, but on his entire extended family. But as visits came daily from Carl and Judith. From Michonne and Glenn. Maggie. Bob and Hershel. From everyone, but mostly from Daryl, Rick was able to quickly recognize that mourning over the loss of his foot would always come second to the sheer joy of having more time with his family. More time to see them and talk to them. To time to watch them grow. More time to love them.

He could tell by the light and the sounds coming from the kitchen that it was well after dinner. Daryl had been in earlier in the evening with Judith and Carl, reading the entire Grimes family a story about a princess and a frog.

The walkie talkie on the bedside buzzed to life. It had sat there for weeks now so Rick could use it when he needed help, but he was so damn stubborn he hadn’t used it a single time.

“Daryl to Rick, come in,” the staticy voice announced.

“Rick. Over.” He grinned.

“I have to call in a class one, code red emergency,” Daryl said.

“What’s this emergency?” Rick asked.

“Ain’t gotten laid in weeks, officer. Can you help me?” he asked.

“That sounds serious,” Rick responded playfully. “How quickly can you be on the scene?”

Daryl pulled back the curtain and stepped into Rick’s room in his most seductive way, eyelashes batting, nibbling his bottom lip, standing with his pelvis tilted forward, a thumb in the pocket of his jeans and his other hand holding the walkie-talkie loosely by his side.

“Miss you,” Rick said.

“Been in here every day.”

“Sick of sleeping it all away.”

“Better ‘thn dying it all away,” Daryl said as he sat on the bed. “Got the all clear from Hershel. List of a a few thangs we can do now and I wanna do them to ya.”

“Sorry ‘f I scared you,” Rick whispered as he carded fingers through Daryl’s hair.

“Dead ain’t got ya. Earthquake ain’t got ya. You ain’t leaving me, Rick Grimes, ever. Plus you got Dixon blood in you now, makes you damn near invincible.”

“So what’s a class one, code red emergency entail?”

“Basically I’m just gonna climb into this bed and kiss you for hours until I’m the one that passes out. Then we’ll kick it up a notch each day. Sound good?”

“Sounds worth living for,” Rick said and leaned in to take Daryl’s lips gently in his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed!!


End file.
